From that point the Helpmakaar road leads straight round a scrubby nek where the Boers have thrown up a formidable series of earthworks.  To avoid these, the column struck off across open veldt into a hollow where men had to feel their way among stunted bushes of the “Wacht een bichte” thorn, and across dongas where the sandy banks crumbled under weights incautiously placed, and slid down with men into depths of six feet or more.  After floundering about there they climbed out again to re-form with such regularity as was possible in the circumstances.  But for the guides, who seemed to know every inch of ground, right directions would almost inevitably have been lost.  As it was, however, they reached the foot of Little Bulwaan (or Gun Hill) at twenty minutes to two, and preparations were made for an immediate assault lest daylight should come before the work could be accomplished.  Everybody knew full well how impossible it would be to get away from the position without terrible losses, if the Boers could see to shoot It was pretty well known that not many of them occupied Gun Hill, but the number encamped within reach of it was a matter of pure speculation, dependent on the accuracy of Kaffir stories which might be true of one day, but quite untrustworthy twenty-four hours later; so rapid are the Boers in their movements, if they get any suspicion that an attack is impending.

Notwithstanding the difficulties of keeping touch across rough ground, where silence was imposed, the different detachments, each with a guide to lead it, marched so quietly that not a word was spoken, and all arrived at their proper posts in admirable order, worthy of trained troops.  That, however, became somewhat broken as the ascent began, and little wonder, for the boulders, rounded and worn smooth by the storms of ages, were slippery to tread on, and occasionally a man’s foot would become wedged between them in a deep cleft.  Here and there progress was painfully slow, and the hill so steep that it had to be climbed on hands and knees.  The higher they climbed the worse it became, until, as one man describing his own experiences said, they were like a lot of lizards crawling over rocks.  Half-way up the hill they had a narrow escape from stumbling on a Boer picket.  The sentry heard if he did not see the line of crouching figures that passed him like ghosts in the darkness with stealthy steps that must have sounded weird across the night stillness.  In a voice huskily vibrant, he challenged, “Wie kom dar?” Getting no reply, he called again twice in louder tones, and then fired his rifle at nothing in particular.  Then, the whole picket waking, or beginning to realise that danger was near, let off a volley, and voices were heard shouting to comrades on the ridge.  “The English are on us, Hans, Carl.  Shoot! shoot!” A few shots came from so close to one flank of the Imperial Light Horse that Boers must have been lying there almost under the feet of our men, if they did